


Smitten

by bohemianraspberries



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Kind of angsty, One Shot, dumbass boys don't realise their crush is mutual trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3545834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bohemianraspberries/pseuds/bohemianraspberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama’s actions feel familiar, like echoes of something he vaguely knows – not from experience, obviously, but from observation, from expectation. His mind keeps wandering back to the conversation between Daichi and Suga; it really would look, <em>does</em> look, to the untrained eye, like Kageyama is – for want of a better word – smitten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smitten

**Author's Note:**

> This took me three whole days and it's a lot longer than I intended!! It's also the first thing I've written in a while so my apologies if it's a little rusty. I hope you enjoy it and it's not too angsty!!

Looking back, Hinata thinks he can pinpoint the exact moment it starts. He's watching the ball spinning through the air: Nishinoya’s receive to Suga’s toss to Asahi and then Asahi hits it with the full force of his strength – which is quite a lot of force, especially relative to Hinata’s – and Hinata leaps up, fully intending to block it, send it back over, but in his fervour he mistimes his jump and his hands are way too far apart for a proper block. 

Which is how he ends up with a volleyball to the face. 

The last thing he remembers is the look of utter horror on Asahi’s face as a blur of green and red and white comes flying towards him at top speed. He must black out for a few seconds, because the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back on the floor of the gym with twelve teammates and Coach Ukai hovering over him with sombre expressions painted on their faces. Even Tsukishima looks worried. 

“Hinata, thank god,” Ukai says when he opens his eyes. “I thought we were gonna have to cart you off to the morgue in the middle of the game.” 

“’M fine,” Hinata mumbles, wondering what all the fuss is about. There’s an unpleasantly metallic taste in his mouth. He swallows. “Honestly. I can still play.” 

There is a general exchange of glances which Hinata is not entirely sure he approves of, then Daichi says, “You were out for almost a minute.” 

“Asahi-san thought he’d killed you,” Tanaka adds helpfully, earning a stony glare from Daichi; Asahi, a few feet away and wearing an expression that says he’s probably close to tears, begins to apologise profusely until Nishinoya kicks him in the shin. 

“It’s fine,” Hinata repeats, slurring his words a little less this time. He struggles to sit up, but a firm pair of hands hold him down, forcing him to lie flat. “Let me up!” he protests, annoyed at the unwarranted attention and the fact that most of the team are still looking at him as though he’s on his deathbed. “I’m fine!” 

“At least you’ve stopped bleeding now,” Nishinoya comments brightly, and Asahi returns the kick to the shin. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re not fine,” comes a voice from behind his head, and he lets out a groan of frustration. _Kageyama._ Of course Kageyama would be the one pinning him to the floor, stopping him from getting up and making him look a fool in front of the entire team, plus Shimizu and Yachi. The guy seems to have a sixth sense for showing up just in time to make Hinata’s life unnecessarily difficult. 

“Leave me alone, Kageyama!” he mutters. 

“Oi, let him sit up,” Ukai says, and Kageyama’s hands _finally_ disappear from his shoulders, leaving him free to sit upright; although immediately he feels he’d much rather be lying down again as he winces at the sudden throbbing pain in his head and just below his left eye. 

“Hinata, can you stand?” Ukai asks, and he nods gingerly, careful not to move his head around too much as Ukai and Shimizu, the closest to him, each take an arm and help him to his feet. He sways a little, the ground shifting slightly under him – and then a pair of hands catch him under his arms, and Ukai is telling Kageyama to take him to the nurse’s office and everybody else to continue the game with Yamaguchi and Ennoshita subbing in for the two of them. 

Kageyama practically carries him to the nurse’s office, his arm slung around Kageyama’s broad shoulders while his waist is clasped in an uncomfortably tight grip to prevent him from falling. He feels like a child, a pre-schooler who has fallen over in the playground and grazed his knee. The entire situation is ridiculous and humiliating to boot. 

“I can walk, you know,” he says irritably, resenting Kageyama’s air of martyrdom, but Kageyama snorts derisively at his apparently absurd claim. 

“You can’t even stand, let alone walk, dumbass,” he quips as he sets Hinata down – surprisingly carefully – on a bed to wait for the nurse. “You’re lucky it’s only practice. If this were a real match you’d be out for the rest of the tournament.” 

“You’re even more annoying when there’s two of you,” Hinata responds, trying to goad him into angry silence, but his retort only serves to make Kageyama’s brow crinkle, like he’s worried about something, and he holds up two fingers and makes a V-shape in front of Hinata’s face. 

“How many am I holding up?” 

Hinata throws him a disdainful glance. “You look like Oikawa,” he says airily, watching Kageyama’s face turn beetroot red as he balls up his fists and lapses into silence. 

At last, Hinata thinks. Peace. 

***

The nurse concludes that Hinata doesn’t have concussion, just a nasty blow to the head (“What does she think concussion is?” Kageyama grumbles), but decides to keep him in for the rest of the day anyway. Nishinoya and Tanaka visit him at lunchtime; after school Kageyama brings him the notes from all the classes he’s missed – punishment, Hinata supposes, for the Oikawa comment – and is allowed to walk him to afternoon practice, provided he sits out the entire thing. He takes a seat on the bench and smiles stiffly at his teammates as they trickle in from the clubroom, tries not to feel annoyed or jealous as he watches them leap and dart about, hitting spikes and serves and receives with a dexterity far beyond his own. Ukai and Takeda Sensei make use of him, getting him to observe and critique the others’ techniques, while Nishinoya employs his Rolling Thunder move specially for him, and he ends up enjoying himself quite a bit, despite not being able to play. He almost loses his fixed grin, though, when Ennoshita hits an incredible spike and thanks Kageyama for his “perfect” toss. 

It's after that that things start to get a bit weird. After practice, Kageyama insists on accompanying him all the way home, even though Hinata assures him he's not going to pass out on the bus. Kageyama ignores his protests and walks him right up to his front door before muttering an awkward, "Goodnight," and turning stiffly back in the direction he came. Hinata barely has time to comprehend the fact that Kageyama is even being civil to him, let alone actually walking him all the way home, before his mother appears, clutching at his face and demanding to know about his black eye. 

He makes it to morning practice the next day and everyone is glad to see him (Asahi especially) but Daichi won't let him play, despite his protests that he's obviously much better. 

“My head doesn't even hurt that much,” he complains, but Daichi makes him sit on the bench for the whole session, and Kageyama keeps glaring at him for some reason. Afterwards, he brings Hinata an ice pack for his black eye. It rattles him. Kageyama never normally pays him this much mind; sure, they've grown surprisingly close in the past year – he even considers Kageyama a friend now – but even when they're practising one-on-one or eating lunch together Kageyama is never this... attentive. It's unnerving. 

“Kageyama, I'm fine!” Hinata yells when Kageyama offers to carry his bag for the third time that afternoon. "I don't need you to baby me." 

"I'm not babying you," Kageyama responds, sounding a little nonplussed. 

"Well, stop crowding me, it's weird." 

"What's weird about it?" 

"You're being way too nice to me." 

"Isn't that a good thing, you ungrateful bastard?" 

Hinata shrugs. "I dunno. It's like you think I'm gonna trip and break my neck every five minutes. I'm not." 

Even so, Kageyama doesn't stop with his weird protectiveness, and after a couple of days Hinata kind of… gets used to it. Even when he's allowed to train again – though only drills at first, and nothing strenuous – Kageyama is there to pick him up after class, to wait for him before practice, to accompany him to the bus stop afterwards. It's kind of nice, actually, to have someone to natter on to, even though Kageyama rarely speaks and probably never listens to a word Hinata is saying. It's nice to talk to about his mum and Natsu and Kenma and the matches he's been watching on TV (“Fushimi is amazing! He’s even taller than that Aone guy from Datekou!”) and the new pair of sneakers he wants for his birthday and how badly he failed that test the other day. Kageyama doesn't seem to mind him wittering on about anything and everything – at least, he never tells him to shut up. It's strange, but even so this new Kageyama is a lot more likeable than the old one. On the third day Hinata even lets Kageyama carry his bag all the way to the bus stop. Perhaps, Hinata thinks, there are advantages to being hit in the face with a volleyball. 

***

At first, fulfilling Daichi's request to him to "look out for Hinata for a few days" was an annoyance; then a mere inconvenience; then it became routine; now, he has discovered to his perplexity that he actually rather enjoys looking after Hinata. He may be a giant ball of wasted energy with little focus and even less concentration, but the easy smile on his face when he spies Kageyama waiting after class sets Kageyama's stomach fluttering in a way he never would have thought possible. It's strange and confusing but for some reason it doesn't stop him holding doors or lending Hinata his jacket when he forgets his own or carrying his bag when he complains that he’s tired. Once, when they stop at Ukai's after practice, Kageyama even buys him nikuman. 

Daichi calls him over one day, during a break in practice, and asks if there's anything he wants to talk about, a question which takes Kageyama completely by surprise. He wracks his brains, struggling to understand exactly what Daichi means. 

"Well," he says, "I think the receivers –" 

"No, Kageyama," Daichi says, shaking his head. "I didn't mean about volleyball. I meant... about Hinata." 

"Hinata?" Kageyama narrows his eyes, completely lost – whatever Daichi is getting at is entirely beyond him; Daichi seems to read this in his face because he clears his throat and tries to elaborate. 

"Don't you think you're going a bit... overboard with the whole taking care of him thing? You don't have to be so protective all the time. I mean, he's probably not likely to injure himself again. Even Hinata's not that clumsy," he finishes, offering Kageyama a grin. 

Kageyama frowns, only half comprehending him. "You want me to stop?" 

Daichi shakes his head. "I didn't say that," he replies. "I only said it's not a duty anymore. If you're both happy with things the way they are, then fine." He pauses, scratches his head, considers. "Just make sure you're both on the same page, okay?" 

He walks away, leaving Kageyama more confused than before. On the same page? What does that mean? Surely Daichi doesn't think he has some kind of ulterior motive at play, that he wants something from Hinata in exchange for… whatever it is that he's doing. It makes Kageyama's blood run cold to imagine his senpai thinking ill of him – even more so to imagine Hinata thinking the same; to imagine his reaction, to watch his face fall and his mouth twist as he asks plaintively, "So you don't really like me?" And to imagine having to explain that of course he likes Hinata, of course he doesn't want anything but to watch the smile spread across his face when he sees Kageyama, listen to the warmth in his voice whenever he talks about Natsu, see the way his eyes light up when he hits that toss, that toss that only Kageyama can send and only Hinata can hit. Those are the only things he wants from this boy, those and maybe just to be around him all the time, not just on the court but in between lessons, during lunch, after practice, maybe even outside of school. Maybe even on weekends. That, he thinks, is all he wants. 

And then he thinks, _Fuck._

"Oi, what was all that about?" Hinata's sharp voice cuts through the fog of his thoughts and he almost jumps out of his skin. 

"Nothing," he says, not turning to face the other boy, terrified his expression will give him away. What was he thinking? He had no idea he'd picked up on so many nuances, stored up so many memories of little things. He didn't know he wanted so little and yet so much. He doesn't really know what it means, but he knows it's bad. 

"What do you mean nothing?" Hinata scoffs. "Daichi-san looked dead serious. Are you in trouble?" 

"Of course I'm not in trouble, dumbass!" Kageyama barks, whirling round with a face like thunder. Hinata's eyes widen, and he backs away with both hands in the air, only half-jokingly, and Kageyama feels bad, bad that he lost his temper, bad that he caused such a reaction, bad that Hinata still isn't irritating enough for him to give up on. 

Hinata looks like he feels bad too, because his mouth is doing that twisty thing it does when he's upset or sheepish, and his eyes are cast down so that Kageyama can see the dark lashes sweeping his face. Kageyama will not stop thinking about those lashes for weeks. 

"Well, do you wanna talk about it?" Hinata asks, and Kageyama should say Yes, yes, please tell me what is wrong with me, but instead he says No, of course he doesn't want to talk about it, is Hinata stupid? 

"It's okay. I get in trouble all the time," Hinata says. In the same gentle tone, he adds, "And don't call me stupid." 

Kageyama doesn't say anything for a long time and then he says, very quietly, "Sorry." 

If Hinata is surprised at this rare apology, he doesn't say anything. He just smiles and punches Kageyama lightly on the shoulder and says, "Dumbass. You can tell me stuff, you know? We're friends, right?" 

"Friends. Right," Kageyama repeats mechanically. Friends. It's not exactly a revelation, they are friends, of course they are, but the words have an odd warmth to them, like all the words Hinata says these days. Kageyama doesn't know if this warmth is new or whether he simply hasn't noticed it before, but he knows it is definitely, definitely bad. He takes a deep breath. “Sawamura-san said I was a little too self-centred with my tosses. It brought back – memories, that’s all.” Lying to Hinata feels bad, especially since Hinata is never anything but honest, but he knows that to tell him the truth would be immeasurably worse. He tugs uncomfortably at the hem of his sweater, twisting it between thumb and finger like the twisting feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t know why being around Hinata is making him so self-conscious all of a sudden. It feels like he’s slowly being driven insane. 

“We can practise, if you want,” Hinata offers; his too-bright tone betrays the fact that he knows Kageyama isn’t being entirely truthful, but Hinata being Hinata he seems to firmly believe that any problem, big or small, can be solved at least partially by playing volleyball. And Kageyama really doesn’t want to talk about anything at the moment, so he nods stiffly. 

“You’ll be alright to play?” he asks, ignoring the way Hinata rolls his eyes in exasperation. 

“As long as you don’t throw the ball at my face,” Hinata grins at him, “I’ll be fine.” 

And he is, because every toss Kageyama sends him is perfect. Neither of them mentions it. 

***

They’re setting off for home one day when Hinata realises he has left his sneakers in the clubroom. Kageyama offers to go back and get them but Hinata waves away the suggestion and dashes off back to school after making Kageyama promise not to move a muscle. He’s about to walk straight into the clubroom when he hears Daichi and Suga inside, murmuring in low voices coloured with confusion. 

“It’s kind of odd.” 

“Do you think Hinata’s noticed?” 

Hinata freezes at the sound of his own name, bites his lip, and presses an ear to the door, very carefully. He feels a little guilty eavesdropping like this, but since he seems to be the topic of conversation it can’t be that unethical, right? Besides, if they’re talking about him, surely he has a right to know. 

“He must have done. Kageyama hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.” 

_Kageyama?_ Hinata frowns and presses closer to the door; what the hell are they talking about? 

“I think even Take-chan’s noticed by now,” Suga says, a note of amusement in his voice. “He must be smitten.” 

Hinata’s brain crashes. Kageyama… smitten? With _him?_ It doesn’t seem possible, and yet – _and yet_ – it all sort of makes sense. Kageyama’s strange attentiveness, the way he is sometimes weirdly indulgent, his brooding silences… all for him? All because Asahi accidentally hit him in the face with a volleyball? It seems faintly ridiculous. He can’t imagine Kageyama falling for anyone, let alone _him_ , and besides, the two of them together would be… well, it would be a disaster, wouldn’t it? It would never work. He doesn’t even _like_ Kageyama like that – does he? The very idea is laughable – but then suddenly he’s thinking about Kageyama’s eyes and how they are the dark blue of stormy skies, about that piercing stare that chills him to the bone but somehow ignites a fire in him too; he thinks about that rare, almost predatory grin and how it does things to his insides that he doesn’t even want to think about, let alone admit; he thinks about the single glance Kageyama gives him during matches that means _I’m tossing to you next, so you’d better be ready_ , and about the look of triumph on his face when they pull off a quick that takes the opposing team visibly by surprise. 

And then he shakes himself out of it, because what is he doing? It’s impossible – Kageyama doesn’t feel the way Daichi and Suga are suggesting, because that would be insane. Even so, the sudden eruption of butterflies in his tummy doesn’t recede at all. 

When his attention returns to the conversation in the clubroom, Daichi is saying, “At first I thought he was just being overzealous in his duties, but it’s been two weeks. Hinata’s not even remotely injured anymore. I just hope they’re on the same page.” 

Hinata narrows his eyes as the sound of Suga’s gentle laugh seeps through the door. “I can’t believe you asked him to look after Hinata.” 

“I couldn’t have him passing out again, now could I?” says Daichi, a grin in his tone. “Those oddball quicks are one of the best weapons we have.” 

Hinata feels as though someone has poured ice water into his veins; the fluttering in his stomach is replaced by a sinking feeling that threatens to drown him, leaves him gasping for air in quick, shallow breaths, and there is a familiar pricking behind his eyes and he has to leave, run, get away from here before he can hear anything else damning – though surely nothing could be as damning as this. It’s one thing to discover your latent crush on your best friend via eavesdropping, another entirely to find out that the friend in question is only being nice to you because he has been ordered to by his senpais. 

He finds a secluded spot under a tree where he can cry without being disturbed, after which he feels a little better. He wipes his eyes, picks himself up, and heads back to the place where – incredibly – Kageyama is still waiting. Hinata feels vaguely annoyed – part of him wishes Kageyama had given up waiting and gone home, left him to agonise in peace. For a moment he contemplates running away and finding a different route home but he cannot come up with a plausible excuse for doing so, and anyway Kageyama is already approaching him, clearly irritable. 

“Oi, what the hell were you up to, Hinata? You were gone ages,” he grumbles, inadvertently making Hinata’s bad mood worse. “Did you get your shoes?” 

“No,” Hinata snaps, his tone a little harsher than intended. “The clubroom was locked. I’ll get them tomorrow.” 

Kageyama gives him a strange look. “Have you been crying?” he asks, in that tone of worried sincerity that makes Hinata want to leap ten feet in the air and punch a wall at the same time. 

“No,” he says shortly, and attempts to derail Kageyama’s line of inquiry by adding, “Why didn’t you leave, if you didn’t want to hang around, instead of complaining about it?” 

Kageyama looks surprised. “You asked me to wait.” 

“Well, you didn’t have to. I’m fine, you know. I don’t need to be chaperoned.” 

“You really think I’d be your chaperone?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t.” 

“Even if Daichi-san asked?” 

Kageyama gives him a sidelong glance. “What the hell’s with you today?” he says, suspicious. 

“Just answer the question, dammit.” 

“It’s a stupid question. Why would Sawamura-san want me to chaperone you?” 

“You would, though, wouldn’t you?” Hinata says, looking him dead in the eye. “You couldn’t refuse a senpai, right?” 

Kageyama narrows his eyes. “I suppose not,” he concedes. 

Well, Hinata thinks, that’s that. Daichi will be happy – at least they’re on the same page now. Part of him is relieved to know where he stands with Kageyama, even if it’s not where he’d like to be. It’s only a tiny part, though. 

***

Still, Kageyama doesn’t relent with the (frankly, at this point, ridiculous) chivalry, even after Hinata has basically made him admit to being forced into it by Daichi. If anything, he’s become more watchful, more attentive. Hinata can feel his eyes on him every second, feel Kageyama's hand at his elbow, Kageyama's arm at his back, steadying him, guarding him, keeping him from tripping and falling or walking into door frames. It’s Kageyama’s sweatshirt that he pulls gratefully (but ungraciously) over his head whenever he complains about being cold; Kageyama’s bottle that is offered when he’s finished his water but is still thirsty after practice; it’s Kageyama’s light pat on the back and Kageyama’s mouth that quirks into a grin whenever he nails a spike. 

It's annoying. It's annoying because Kageyama doesn't care about him, at least not the way he should. 

Hinata thinks about asking him what it’s all for, but the answer would probably only piss him off. After all, even if he doesn't know what the reason is, he's sure of what it isn't; it's not like Kageyama actively cares about him, not like Kageyama’s being nice to him for any other reason than that Daichi told him to. Hinata finds himself searching for outlandish explanations for Kageyama’s behaviour: he’s probably just trying to improve his interpersonal skills, to avoid the events of his final junior high match coming back to haunt him. Because no matter what Daichi and Suga said, no matter what it looks like to them, the one explanation Hinata keeps coming back to is the one he knows with absolute conviction is impossible. Daichi and Suga know Kageyama well enough, but they don’t know him like Hinata knows him; they don’t know that Kageyama just isn’t the type to fall in love, that he never talks about girls or boys or anyone, that he wouldn’t, absolutely would never talk or even think that way about Hinata. 

It’s kind of sad to think about the effort Kageyama has put into this pity party, and sometimes Hinata finds himself awake past midnight and tears of bitter resentment filling his eyes, overflowing, spilling down his cheeks and onto his pillow. Mostly, however, he tries to be philosophical and resigns himself to feeling grateful that Kageyama hasn’t grown sick of him yet. He lets himself laugh at Kageyama’s annoyed expression, lets his eyes wander to Kageyama’s lips and his mind wander to Kageyama’s smile, but never too much and never for too long, and when he’s alone in bed at night he lets himself play back all the things Kageyama has said to him during the day – tiny, insignificant things that would be irrelevant had they come from anybody else, but this boy, this boy is so infuriating and captivating and every word he says is an enigma, everything he does a puzzle that Hinata doesn’t want to get too close to solving. 

And still, day after day, this torturous charade continues, and Kageyama seems to think nothing of it, seems to have no idea how much Hinata hates it and how, at the same time, he never wants it to end. It’s like being smothered with the softest, downiest pillow in existence. It’s torture, but it’s the best kind. Hinata reckons he could probably get used to it – he already is, sort of – if only his mind didn’t keep wandering back to Daichi and Suga and that one word – _smitten_. If only, even though he knows it’s impossible, he could stop himself building daydreams around that word, if only he could dispel that last shadow of doubt from his mind, the one that clings there as though it’s been glued on, refusing to let go. If only he wasn’t so damn optimistic. 

***

Finally, he can stand it no more. 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asks one day as they walk home, the last of the late afternoon sun slowly melting into rays of pink and red that bleed into the clouds overhead. Kageyama, Hinata’s bag slung over one shoulder as has become his custom, gives him a blank look. 

"You know," Hinata continues, "carrying my stuff for me, buying me nikuman, asking me if I'm okay all the time." 

"I'm looking after you, dumbass," Kageyama says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "If you keep injuring yourself, you won't be able to play." He turns away, his expression settling into the familiar misanthropic scowl, but the unease in the pit of Hinata's stomach isn't quelled. Those words are like a confirmation, but even they cannot serve as a death knell for the persistent _what-ifs_ chattering away in his head. Kageyama’s actions feel familiar, like echoes of something he vaguely knows – not from experience, obviously, but from observation, from expectation. His mind keeps wandering back to the conversation between Daichi and Suga; it really would look, _does_ look, to the untrained eye, like Kageyama is – for want of a better word – smitten. 

But of course he isn't, Hinata reminds himself. It might look to outsiders as though he is, but Hinata knows better than anyone that Kageyama doesn't make sense, he doesn't think like normal people, and sometimes he says or does things that are completely inexplicable to anyone other than himself. To Kageyama, of course, everything he does is perfectly rational and thought-through, but if you aren't Kageyama – and Hinata most definitely isn't – it's easy to get thrown into a whirlwind of confusion. 

"Why do you care so much, though? After all, you don't need me like I need you." 

Kageyama's eyes narrow, his expression grows even more sour, and for a moment Hinata thinks he's going to get yelled at, but just as he's bracing himself for the blow Kageyama speaks and his voice is soft, troubled, hurt almost. 

"What do you mean? I don't need you? Why would you say something like that?" 

Hinata shrugs. "Everyone knows you're a genius," he says, a bit grudgingly. "You can match your toss to anyone, even me. Even Tsukishima. If I'm not able to play there are three more spikers on the team who can hit your toss. But whenever you're taken out, I'm benched too. I can hit your toss, sure, but I can't do anything else." 

That's not true, Kageyama thinks, none of it is true. While Hinata might not have the word "genius" thrown around in reference to him, his technique has improved indescribably since they first began playing together, and his energy and stamina, his blind optimism, his persistent calls for “One more toss,” are part of what holds the team together, whether during practice or a vital tournament match. Kageyama clenches his teeth, suddenly somehow angry that Hinata can't see his own importance. Hinata, who is so obviously the centre of Karasuno's world – the sun around which all of them orbit. He's so bright Kageyama sometimes has to shield his eyes to look at him. 

“Without you," he grits out, his voice catching in his teeth like shards of gravel – he hates to admit this, but he has to. "Without you, I never would have made the team." 

"Hah?" Hinata's eyes are wide, boring into Kageyama's own, and Kageyama tries to ignore the way his heart speeds up at the sight of those wide brown eyes, always alight and glowing with whatever energy makes him bounce around so much. Tries, but fails. "How do you figure that one out?" 

Kageyama sighs, and runs a hand through his hair, the way he only ever does when he's embarrassed, but Hinata barely has time to consider what on earth he could be getting so flustered about because suddenly Kageyama is blurting out all this stuff about being "King of the Court" and how, if Daichi hadn't forced the two of them to get along, he would almost certainly have remained far too selfish and arrogant to play any kind of team sport, and so really it's because of Hinata's ridiculous determination that Kageyama didn't end up being rejected from the team and completely humiliating himself in front of his senpais. So really, he kind of owes everything to Hinata and okay, well, all that aside he’s made an unlikely friend whose company he actually maybe doesn’t find excruciating and annoying one hundred percent of the time. 

He stops when he realises he's left Hinata several paces behind, bent double and wheezing with laughter. 

"I'm s-sorry, Kageyama," Hinata manages, once he's got his breath back and the redness in his face has died down, leaving a pleasant flush on his cheeks. "You're just so funny when you get sincere!" 

Kageyama scowls, but manages to restrain himself enough that he doesn't punch Hinata in the face. He feels oddly humiliated, as though he has just revealed his darkest secret only to find himself jeered and mocked, though none of what he has said is really news to either of them. All the more annoying is the fact that he only said it to comfort Hinata, to make him realise his own strengths, yet what should have been a moving pep talk made him a laughing stock instead. 

"Forget it," he shrugs. Hinata seems to realise his mistake, because he leaps in front of Kageyama with his usual exuberance and says, "Don't worry, Kageyama, I couldn't have made the team without you either." He pauses, then adds, "And even though I'm gonna beat you one day, I like hitting your tosses more than anything else in the world." 

More than anything else in the world. Kageyama doesn't really know how to react to the warmth he feels creeping up his spine into his chest and face; it is indescribable – the kind of sunshine only Hinata can bring, without ever meaning to, without ever once being false or dishonest or insincere. Hinata only ever speaks the truth about people, but unlike Kageyama, who is by nature rough and harsh and tactless, he never seems to have anything bad to say. 

He watches as Hinata skips away in front of him; he could race ahead, he thinks, come up from behind and leave Hinata spinning in the wake of his tornado, but somehow today it's enough just to watch him leaping and dancing like some woodland creature just awakened from hibernation, revelling in the warmth of early spring. 

***

This is bad, he thinks. Very, very bad. Incredibly, unfathomably, unquestionably awful. Hearing Kageyama say those things about him made Hinata feel wholly more elated than he should have done, and now however much he tries to quash the niggling suggestion that _perhaps he really cares about you_ it always seems to surface somewhere between midnight and 3 am. It is irrepressible, and it is extremely unfair. 

It wouldn't be so bad if he could forget Kageyama's eyes, blue as thunder clouds; it wouldn't be so bad if Kageyama's fingers brushing accidentally against his own didn't send a shock of electricity through him like lightning; it wouldn't be so bad if Kageyama didn't return his smile these days like it was the most natural thing ever even though Kageyama never, ever smiled like that before. It wouldn't be so bad if, the very last time Hinata resigns himself to being just friends, Kageyama didn't snort at some stupid joke he's made and Hinata realises it's the first time he's ever heard him laugh, and that he made it happen. 

It gets progressively worse; Hinata finds himself telling rubbish jokes to just to hear that tiny little laugh as often as possible, and when Suga claps him on the shoulder and tells him his technique's really come on leaps and bounds he realises with a shock of guilt that the reason he's worked so hard isn't merely because he wants to – part of it, he realises, was to gain Kageyama's approval, because he lives for that grin he receives when he hits a near-perfect spike. 

And he knows he should stop, stop thinking about these things, stop wasting his energy on hoping desperately for something that will probably never happen, but he's in too deep now and really, there's nothing he can do because no matter how hard he tries he still can't suppress the glow in his chest that flares when Kageyama smiles at him or waits for him or scolds him for not getting enough sleep at night and makes him think of that word – smitten. The glow that says, _Maybe, just maybe._

And then one day he walks out of class and Kageyama isn't waiting for him and there's that sinking feeling in his chest and he tells himself it shouldn't be surprising. It was inevitable that Kageyama would get bored eventually, would stop waiting for him, stop carrying his bag, stop brushing a hand against his back every so often. It was inevitable he would stop caring. So he tries to ignore it, tries not to feel resentful as he walks to practice alone for the first time in nearly a month, and then he turns a corner and it's worse than he could possibly imagine. 

Kageyama stands alone in an empty classroom, alone except for the pretty, dark-haired girl standing opposite him, hands clasped and fingers twitching apprehensively, a nervous grin playing on her lips. And he can't see Kageyama's face – he can only imagine the sincerity in those storm cloud eyes, the slow-spreading smile that should only be for Hinata. He can only imagine the gratitude, the relief, the elatedness Kageyama must be feeling. And his world sort of, folds and the sinking feeling is there again, only this time it's accompanied by a twisting in his stomach and he feels like he's going to be sick; his throat is closing up and his eyes start to burn with tears and he has to run, to find the secluded spot under the tree that is now all too familiar and hope that no one wonders too much at his absence. 

Under the shade of the leaves, the gnarled bark of the trunk pressing uncomfortably against his back, he lets himself cry in big, loud sobs and with every wail of despair he wishes he'd never hit his head in the first place. And nobody looks for him, or at least, nobody finds him, and when he's finished crying he picks himself up and dusts himself off and walks to the bus stop alone. 

***

Kageyama knows he’s overstepped the mark. To be honest, he knows he’s been overstepping the mark for quite some time. He knows it became unnecessary after the first week to carry Hinata’s bag for him, offer him water or a jacket, hold doors open, walk him to and from class and even part of the way home. It’s never been necessary, he knows, to share drinks with Hinata or buy him nikuman or touch him lightly on the shoulder or brush his fingertips against Hinata’s just because he wants to. For a while now, his behaviour has been totally, completely unwarranted. Hinata has been playing properly again for three whole weeks, so there was really no reason for Kageyama to continue his routine. Except for the fact that he wanted to. Except that he thought Hinata didn’t mind. 

Except, he was wrong. He knows he’s really fucked up when Hinata starts cycling to and from school again, carrying his own bag, bringing two water bottles so there’s never any excuse to share Kageyama’s. Hinata keeps his distance, literally – he still walks beside Kageyama on the way to practice, but the extra few centimetres between them now feel like an immeasurable distance, an unbridgeable void. Their fingers no longer bump together, and Kageyama takes it as a sign that he should stop brushing his fingers along Hinata's shoulder blade, across the small of his back, should just keep his hands to himself. He should keep quiet, say nothing, make any and all sacrifices necessary to make things less awkward between them. Or perhaps he should apologise and beg Hinata’s forgiveness – but then, he is too much of a coward. 

Hinata becomes quiet, responding only briefly and minimally to the few questions Kageyama throws him, and after a while Kageyama stops asking Hinata about his day and whether he’s alright and if he wants Kageyama to carry anything; the last two especially seem to get Hinata uncharacteristically riled up, so in the end he gives up saying anything. He waits for Hinata at lunchtime every day, but Hinata never shows up. Eventually, he stops waiting after class. 

The full realisation of how utterly stupid he’s been hits him like a freight train. He thought he’d been at least a tiny bit subtle, he thought he could cover it by pretending he didn’t want Hinata to get injured again – and he doesn’t, of course, but his going rather above and beyond his duties has a far more deep-seated reason. He can hardly believe that he’s managed to cause the complete opposite outcome to the one he was trying to achieve – he wanted to make Hinata smile, but instead he has caused a near-permanent frown to paint itself onto Hinata’s face; he wanted to be around Hinata all the time, and he has ended up cold and alone and friendless as before. It’s like a bad dream, and yet the situation is all too plausible. He has been selfish, more selfish than he had thought himself capable of being, and as ever, his selfishness has destroyed any opportunity he might have had to feel good again. His days, like his last days of junior high, become grey again; life without Hinata is like walking in permanent fog. They only ever see each other at practice now, and even there they avoid each other as much as possible. The one time Daichi makes them practise one-on-one, Kageyama’s tosses are far too wide and Hinata mistimes all his jumps so badly that Daichi benches them both and even Suga begins to despair. Kageyama sticks to the shadows after that and Hinata prefers to practise with Suga these days, which stings like salt in a fresh wound, but Kageyama can say nothing because it is entirely his fault, after all. 

He thinks about asking his teammates, the only people he sort of trusts, what to do, what to say, how to make it up to Hinata. He almost blurts it out one day when Daichi corners him, but the words stick in his throat and he ends up ducking away and mumbling a lie about everything being fine. He is, he reminds himself, a coward and an inherently selfish person – he is, he thinks bitterly, still the King of the Court. So really, things are better this way. Hinata is much, much better off without him. 

***

It’s better this way, he tells himself. It’s better now that Kageyama is keeping his distance, now that he probably has a girlfriend, now that he isn’t torturing Hinata with his laugh and his light touches and his genuine concern. It’s better this way, he says, repeating it over and over like a mantra, but it doesn’t soothe the inexplicable feeling of loss that threatens to overwhelm him at weird times, like in class or in the clubroom or when he’s cycling home instead of walking to the bus stop with Kageyama. It’s better this way, he tells himself, but deep down he knows it isn’t true. 

He can’t concentrate these days. His volleyball technique is becoming increasingly awful. His grades are dropping drastically because he drifts off in lessons and daydreams about little touches and brushing fingers and stupid jokes told just to hear that laugh that no one else could hear. No one else but _her._

He still doesn’t know who she is – Kageyama hasn’t said a word about it, and he’s fairly sure the rest of the team don’t know – and yet just the memory of her pretty dark hair, her smooth skin and nervous smile, ignites an irrational anger in him. He knows he’s being unfair, he knows he shouldn’t hate her – on the contrary, he should really be grateful for her existence, since she makes Kageyama happy – but the thought of _her_ being the one to wear Kageyama’s jacket, to feel his fingers on the back of her neck, to say ridiculous things to make him laugh – the thought of _her_ making Kageyama happy instead of _him_ is maddening. 

The secluded spot under the tree has become his regular haunt these days, and he’s actually rather impressed with himself for finding somewhere so out-of-the-way that it’s virtually impossible to be discovered. Impressed, that is, until one day, when he is skipping practice to contemplate the mess he has managed to get himself into, a soft voice from above asks, “Can I join you?” 

He looks up, startled. “Asahi-san!” he cries, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Asahi doesn’t say anything, just nods and sits down and looks at Hinata, who in his shock blurts out, “How did you find me?” 

“I used to come here a lot too,” Asahi says. “Last year. After…” He trails off. 

Hinata manages a smile. “I guess it’s a good place to come to skip practice.” 

“You shouldn’t be skipping practice, you know.” Asahi’s tone is mild and calming, and even his massive physique is somehow soothing, rather than threatening. Being around Asahi always makes Hinata feel somewhat protected, as though he is an older brother who forgives all wrongdoing and finds it impossible to get angry. 

“I know,” he agrees, feeling his throat close up – the guilt at letting his team down is unbearable, and yet… “I just can’t face –” He breaks off, wiping furiously at the pathetic tears racing down his cheeks. 

“Can’t face what, Hinata?” Asahi prods gently. 

_"Him,"_ Hinata says, the tightness in his chest constricting his breathing and making him gasp for air. He can hear his own harsh, shallow breaths and he squeezes his eyes shut, barely holding himself together. 

“Kageyama?” Asahi enquires, and Hinata doesn’t even bother to ask how he knows, just nods, and then all of a sudden, as though at the sound of Kageyama’s name, the dam inside him breaks and all the bottled-up emotions from the past month burst forth, and he is telling Asahi everything, burbling half-coherent sentences in between sobs – about how Kageyama’s courteousness was weird at first and then it was nice and now he doesn’t think he can live without it; about how he probably, maybe, okay definitely, has a huge crush on Kageyama; about how he thought maybe, just maybe Kageyama might possibly feel the same, but then he saw Kageyama with the girl who might well be his girlfriend now and his whole world has crashed and he’s totally miserable all the time because he’s in love with Kageyama and Kageyama isn’t in love with him. Asahi doesn’t say anything, just puts his arms around Hinata, lets him cry and babble, and looks at him with those big doe-eyes full of sadness. And when Hinata is finally able to breathe again Asahi produces a pack of tissues and hands them to Hinata, who takes them gratefully and wipes his eyes and nose. He sniffs and sits up and says, “Sorry, Asahi-san.” 

Asahi smiles gently. “There’s no need to apologise, Hinata. Actually, I think I owe you an apology,” he adds, sounding a little ashamed. “I’m the one who hit you with a volleyball in the first place.” 

Hinata shrugs. “I think it would have happened eventually anyway. Not the volleyball –” he glances at Asahi – “I mean everything else.” 

Asahi nods, not looking at him. He is silent for a while, staring contemplatively into the distance, and then he stands and says, “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Hinata watches him go before turning his attention back to the ground. Spring has firmly established itself now; tiny flowers push up from the earth, and the grass is littered with sakura petals. Strangely, he feels a lot calmer now, despite having confessed what feels like his entire repertoire of dark secrets to Asahi in the most embarrassing way possible – at least he’s told someone, he thinks, even if there’s really nothing they can do about any of it. Even though he knows nothing has changed, it feels as though a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders, and he’s sort of ready to accept his fate. Of course, he isn’t stupid, he knows it’s still going to hurt like hell, but somehow the idea of just being friends with Kageyama isn’t so bad. It’s a lot better than the shit he’s been putting himself through for the past week. 

“Asahi-san, you were gone ages,” he says idly, as he hears footsteps approach; there’s no answer, though, and a pair of black sneakers which definitely don’t belong to Asahi loom into view and come to a stop right in front of him. He looks up to see Kageyama glaring down at him. 

_Oh, crap._

He waits for Kageyama to speak – or rather, to yell – but Kageyama is apparently so apoplectic that he’s unable to formulate a sentence. Hinata raises one eyebrow and stares until the silence has drawn out for far too long and he has to finally relent. 

“What do you want?” he says, lacking the energy to inject any venom into his tone. 

It takes Kageyama a few moments to gather his thoughts into coherent speech. When he manages it, the first words out of his mouth are, “I don’t have a girlfriend, you dumbass.” 

“What?” Hinata frowns. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Kageyama repeats. He takes a deep breath, his fingers twisting the hem of his practice sweater, and then he says, kind of in a rush, “And I’m in love with you.” 

There’s a pause while Hinata tries to process what he’s just heard come out of Kageyama’s mouth, but it’s kind of hard because it’s not the sort of thing that normally comes out of Kageyama’s mouth, and maybe he’s imagined it, and even if he hasn’t it can’t mean _that_ , can it? Can it? His brain is going into overdrive and he needs time, needs to think, but Kageyama is staring at him expectantly and he has to say _something_ so he just says, _“What?”_

Kageyama looks simultaneously apprehensive and unimpressed, kind of similar to the way he looks when Hinata loses his nerve before a big match, and Hinata thinks it would probably be amusing if it wasn’t following an almost comically sincere (and possibly imagined, on his part) love confession. 

“Don’t make me say it again, dammit,” Kageyama spits out between gritted teeth. Hinata gazes up at his figure, framed against the rose-coloured sunset that matches the pleasant flush dusting his cheeks, and realises he’s never seen Kageyama blush before. The sleeves of his sweater are rolled up to his elbows and the smooth skin of his hands, twitching nervously, is starkly pale against the black of his shorts. Hinata hopes he’ll never forget the image of Kageyama staring down at him, pale blossoms scattered in his hair. His storm cloud eyes are fixed on Hinata’s gaze, but if his harsh tone belied his apprehension his eyes give away everything – they are filled with a kind of desperate emotion Hinata doesn’t fully understand, thinks Kageyama probably doesn’t even fully understand, and Kageyama looks like a rabbit poised for flight – the very embodiment of a held breath. Hinata realises with a jolt that everything rests on his response, that Kageyama’s entire course of action will be determined by Hinata’s reaction to those five words. It’s an awful lot of responsibility. 

Hinata stands, feeling a little wobbly; he clutches at the tree trunk to steady himself and swallows. 

“You’re… in love with me?” he says, just to make sure he _hasn’t_ imagined it. Kageyama nods stiffly and breaks the eye contact, the colour in his cheeks deepening as he stares at his feet. Hinata feels a little like he’s floating, and there’s a warmth growing in the pit of his stomach, a warmth he hasn’t felt in what feels like decades, but he won’t let himself succumb to it just yet. He can’t. Instead, he clears his throat and forces himself to keep looking at Kageyama, even if Kageyama won’t look at him. “And – you don’t have a girlfriend?” 

“What the hell made you think I had a girlfriend?” Kageyama demands, in a tone which implies that he thinks the suggestion is ridiculous. 

“I saw you,” Hinata mumbles. “Together. I saw her confess to you, so I thought –” 

“You thought I’d be delighted and take her hand and skip off into the sunset?” Kageyama snorts derisively. “You’re such a numbskull.” 

Hinata balks a bit at his scorn – it’s not as though he didn’t have a foundation for his beliefs. He _had_ seen her confess, and how was he supposed to know Kageyama wasn’t interested? And okay, he could have asked, he supposes, but for the past week he has been caught up in a highly unpleasant jumble of emotions and he wasn’t really in a state to do very much rational thinking. And anyway – 

“I rejected her,” Kageyama continues, interrupting Hinata’s train of thought. “I told her there was already someone I was planning to confess to.” 

“Me?” 

Kageyama nods. 

“Then why didn’t you say something, dumbass?” Hinata explodes, hopping up and down with frustration at the thought of how ridiculous they’ve both been. 

Kageyama looks away again, tugging at the hem of his sweater like he always does when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and he suddenly looks very shy and small. 

“I was going to, but you went all weird,” he mutters. “Like you didn’t want to be around me anymore. You wouldn’t talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me for the past week.” 

“Because I thought you had a girlfriend,” Hinata says, and then it hits him how thoroughly ludicrous the entire situation is, how much easier they could have made it if only they’d _talked_ to each other. But because they’re Hinata and Kageyama they had to make it hellish and torturous and unnecessarily complicated. Daichi and Suga must be splitting their sides right now. 

And then Kageyama is rolling his eyes and muttering, “Dumbass Hinata,” and Hinata tells him to shut up, and Kageyama, in a rare fit of capriciousness, smirks and says, “Make me.” And because neither of them can resist a challenge Hinata just has to march up to Kageyama, pull him down to his own height, and kiss him. 

The feel of Kageyama’s mouth on his own is like nothing Hinata could ever imagine, despite having tried numerous times. They’re both clumsy, inexperienced, but that doesn’t matter because Kageyama’s lips are rough from where they’re slightly chapped, Kageyama’s breath is warm on Hinata’s mouth, the tip of Kageyama’s tongue is soft and slick and ever so slightly bumpy against Hinata’s bottom lip. And Kageyama has one hand in Hinata’s hair and the other on the small of his back, in that spot that sends a shiver down his spine and makes him sigh involuntarily, that spot that Kageyama hasn’t brushed his fingers against for so long. Hinata doesn’t even know what his own hands are doing because it’s all too much to take in at once, it’s all too new and brilliant and overwhelming and even though he’s cried himself to sleep every night for roughly three weeks, it’s totally, completely worth it. 

And then Kageyama breaks away and Hinata whimpers a little at the loss of contact, but Kageyama doesn’t go too far; his hands are still awkwardly stroking Hinata’s hair and resting on Hinata’s back, his eyes are still fixed on Hinata’s, his shallow breaths still mingle with Hinata’s own laboured pants. Hinata’s hands find Kageyama’s hipbones and he leans in and presses his head to Kageyama’s chest and Kageyama pulls him close and holds him there and they stay like that for minutes or hours or years, Hinata doesn’t know, doesn’t care. He wants to remain here for ever, buried in the warmth of Kageyama’s chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart. 

“Oi, Kageyama?” he mumbles after a minute or so, and Kageyama hums softly in response, one hand still carding through Hinata’s hair. Hinata takes a deep breath, tries to formulate the words to ask about the last thing weighing on his mind. “You weren’t just being nice to me because Daichi-san said so, right?” 

Kageyama chuckles softly, a sound that takes Hinata by surprise – it feels like millennia since he’s heard that laugh, and he’s frankly shocked he can still produce it. “Sawamura-san told me to watch out for you,” Kageyama admits. “But I kind of used it as an excuse, to justify my behaviour. I tried to pretend I didn’t have – feelings, I guess. But to be honest, I… really like taking care of you.” 

“You make me sound like a little kid,” Hinata complains, only half-seriously. Kageyama chuckles again, and the laughter vibrates in his chest and Hinata can _feel_ it. 

“You looked happy to see me,” Kageyama explains. “I wanted to make you look like that all the time.” 

It’s Hinata’s turn to giggle – something about the simplicity of Kageyama’s words takes him by surprise and amuses him. Kageyama tells him to “Shut up, dumbass,” but he presses a light kiss to the top of Hinata’s head all the same. Hinata wants to lean into that kiss, to be kissed head to toe by Kageyama and to kiss every inch of him too – but there’s still one thing, one extremely important thing that still has to be said, so Hinata pushes himself away from Kageyama’s chest in order to look him in the eye and say it. 

“Oi, Kageyama.” 

Kageyama looks down at him, at those big, brown eyes framed with coal dust lashes, and wonders how he ever failed to notice them before. “What?” he says, unable to stop himself smiling just a little. 

Hinata takes a deep breath, prays that Kageyama can’t feel his heart hammering in his chest as he declares, “Kageyama, you really annoy me sometimes. You’re smug as hell and you never smile, except when you do, but that’s not very often. And you can be really mean sometimes, and selfish. And sometimes I want to hate you, but… you make my heart go all _gwaaaa_ and when you’re nice, you’re really, really nice and you never mind that I talk too much or fidget too much and you laugh at all my jokes, even the really bad ones, and when you do actually smile I get this like –” he taps at the spot above his heart – “ _thing_ in my chest, and I don’t get that with anyone but you. So what I think it is, is…” He blushes and grins at the grass, suddenly rather shy. “I love you too, Kageyama. Even though you’re an ass.” 

He looks up and Kageyama is staring, bemused and bewildered and so unlike Kageyama, except also exactly like him. Kageyama, Hinata is beginning realise, is full of contradictions: he is perpetually irritable and impatient, yet he lets Hinata prattle on about trivial things without a hint of annoyance; he has a reputation for being selfish and mistrustful, yet he carries Hinata’s bag and buys him snacks and lends him his jacket and trusts him to hit his tosses every time; he is serious as the grave, yet he laughs at lame jokes just because it is Hinata who tells them; he never does nice things for anyone, yet he only ever does nice things for Hinata, just because. He famously has only one love in the entire world – volleyball – yet he is in love with Hinata. 

_Kageyama is... smitten._

He grins and shoves his face into Kageyama’s chest again, and Kageyama is pressing kisses soft as sakura petals into his hair. And he feels silly because he can’t stop smiling because it’s all so perfect and everything has turned out better than he could possibly have dreamed. 

And because Kageyama is in love with him. 

He could stay like this for hours, he thinks, as he listens to the steady thud of Kageyama’s heart, quiet in the late afternoon. He could stay pressed against Kageyama’s chest, feeling the warmth of Kageyama’s skin on his, Kageyama’s hands on his back, Kageyama’s lips in his hair. Kageyama’s sweater bunched tightly in his fingers because he doesn’t ever want to let him go, doesn’t ever want to let himself get so far away from Kageyama again. Kageyama’s head ducked to rest against his own, Kageyama’s breath tickling his neck, Kageyama’s sighs against the shell of his ear. _Kageyama Kageyama Kageyama._

More than just hours, he thinks. He could stay like this for ever. 

And then he hears someone clear their throat and Kageyama jumps backwards, startled, and Hinata looks up to see Daichi staring at them, hands on hips, eyebrows raised. 

“D-Daichi-san,” Hinata stammers, feeling his face heat up under the glare of scrutiny. “We were just –” He breaks off, hoping that Kageyama will say something, but he doesn’t, just stares at Daichi like he’s not really sure whether he’s real. Hinata becomes uncomfortably aware of Kageyama’s hands on his body, of the way Daichi is looking them up and down, of the way Kageyama is being absolutely the most unhelpful person in the world right now. 

Daichi just shakes his head and sighs. “You two really need to sort yourselves out,” he says. 

Hinata swallows. 

“Ah, yes, Daichi-san. Well, er, we have now, sort of. Haven’t we, Kageyama?” 

He elbows Kageyama, who just kind of, looks at him for a moment before nodding a bit too vigorously as his eyes flicker from Hinata to Daichi. 

“Yes. Sawamura-san.” He pauses, and the rosy flush that accompanied his confession creeps back into his cheeks as he drops his gaze and adds, “Sorry.” 

To Hinata’s surprise, Daichi laughs. “No worries. Just don’t do it again. It’s not good for the team.” He flashes them a grin and turns to leave. “And get moving, we need you for a game.” 

“Daichi-san!” Hinata cries, gripped by a sudden wave of guilt. Daichi turns, a question written on his face, and Hinata gulps; his throat feels very dry all of a sudden. “Um. Sorry for skipping practice,” he mumbles, turning the same shade of pink as Kageyama. 

Daichi smiles and strolls away back to the gym. “You can do two laps of flying falls to make up for it,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears. 

Kageyama relaxes then, and laughs, and Hinata shoves him, but not too hard, and Kageyama shoves him back but then he grabs Hinata’s hand like he’s afraid of letting him go too far. Hinata has no intention of going very far away, ever, so he smiles and laces their fingers together and squeezes Kageyama’s hand just to reassure him. And maybe, maybe just to reassure himself too. 

When Kageyama returns his smile, a little shy and still blushing like a bride, something in Hinata’s chest swells as though his heart’s suddenly too big for his ribcage. He feels like he’s going to burst, but it’s a good feeling. And when Kageyama darts in and presses the softest, lightest kiss to his lips, his stomach does a somersault and he knows, somehow, that it’s all going to be alright. Better than alright. 

***

Later, when they’re walking home after practice, after Hinata has apologised to Asahi profusely and Kageyama has thanked him profusely, Hinata drops one hand from the handlebar of his bike and silently threads his fingers through Kageyama’s. Kageyama looks down at their hands, warm and slightly sticky where their palms press together, and squeezes Hinata’s fingers ever so slightly. It’s at once new and familiar, almost as if they have their own secret, wordless language. They’re so close they can communicate through a look, a raised eyebrow – and these days, a single touch. This one says, _I’m here._

I’m here, Hinata thinks, and I’m not going anywhere. I never will. 

And he knows what that means. Even though he’s already said it, he knows what it means. Even though he’s already said it, he has to say it again. 

“Hey, Kageyama.” His voice is soft in the settling darkness. 

“What?” 

“I love you.” 

Kageyama’s fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around his own, and he reddens and looks away. He is silent for a moment before muttering, “Shut up, dumbass.” 

And Hinata smiles because he knows what _that_ means too. 

They don’t say anything for the rest of the journey, but it’s okay because they don’t have to; Kageyama’s hand in his and Kageyama’s too-big jacket around his shoulders (Hinata swears, at least out loud, that he will remember to bring his own tomorrow) speak volumes about something that doesn’t need to be put into words. They don’t speak until they’re outside Hinata’s front door (Kageyama having insisted on walking him the whole way home) and Kageyama kisses him – quick and light but still enough to set off the butterflies in his stomach – and then he draws back and stares at Hinata with those eyes and says, very quietly, “I love you too.” 

Hinata buries his face in Kageyama’s chest and laughs and he can’t stop laughing; he laughs until he is weak at the knees because there’s so much joy in him that he can’t contain it all. Kageyama is pulling a face and demanding to know what’s so funny, and Hinata has to kiss him again and say, “I’m just happy, dumbass. Because you love me.” 

And then Kageyama is blushing and scowling and stomping away, and Hinata watches him go, safe in the knowledge that he isn’t _really_ mad, because people who are _really_ mad at you don’t squeeze your hand before they walk off, or ruffle your hair, or accidentally-on-purpose let you keep their oversized jacket for an entire evening so that it smells like you, or send you a text that reads nothing but “ <3” right before you go to sleep. 

Hinata knows it will be hard. He knows they will still get into arguments. He knows Kageyama will still yell at him to correct his technique, complain that he’s taking too long to get changed, and pick fights whenever Hinata misses a toss. He knows some of their teammates will give them funny looks and still others will roll their eyes and smile and mutter, “Finally,” like well-meaning but embarrassing parents; he knows people will point and stare and whisper as they pass by in corridors and on busy streets. He knows it’s not going to be easy. 

He also knows that Kageyama will still hold his hand and squeeze his fingers; he knows Kageyama will run his hands through Hinata’s hair and press little kisses on the top of his head; he knows Kageyama will still lend him his jacket and buy him nikuman and share his water and brush his fingers across the small of his back and breathe soft sighs into his ear. Above all, he knows Kageyama will be there beside him, on the court, as always. Maybe, one day, even on the world stage. 

_Smitten_ , Hinata thinks, grinning as he rolls over, taps out his own little “<3” and presses send, before snuggling down and tugging the blankets up to his chin. In hindsight, he thinks, as he drifts off, pulled under by dreams, getting hit in the face with a volleyball isn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh it's so great to get back into writing... Thank you for reading!! Comments are also always appreciated too, but that's optional :)


End file.
